II

Childhood, I’ve learned, is very much a bubble. The bubble protects our children from the horrors of the world by painting an illusion of a world not quite so different from ours.

In the bubble, conflict to a child is but a hazy memory. It’s a TV channel they might skip to find a more interesting show. Injustice is more of the same. Perhaps hate crimes might be imperceptible hairline cracks embedded in a window-pane?

Everything outside this seemingly opaque bubble seems to be something a child might glance over and ignore. Our child may never know what’s outside, as it only shows itself when their parents are there to cover their eyes. Naturally, we try to protect innocence for as long as we can.

It’s funny that we call maturity a coming of age. But what really is maturity? To be mature, must one be proper? Must one know to look both ways when crossing a street, or how to tie one’s shoelaces?

I’ve learned that what they call “maturity” is simply the breaking of the bubble.

Like a Christmas bauble accidentally dropped out of clumsy adolescent hands, it’s as if these things were designed to break.

Eventually, we have to come out of our shell. Eventually, we have to mature. Personally, it’s a harsh wakeup call that I believe we could never fully prepare for.